


There Is No Crime In Being Kind

by inverts



Series: At The Bottom Of A Wishing Well Was A Secret That We Dare Not Speak Out Loud [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Gen, Gender Issues, POV Second Person, Species Swap, heteronormative bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverts/pseuds/inverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's so much more under Mt. Ebott than Asriel could have ever imagined. He really is lucky that Frisk and Chara found him and are taking him to the exit, isn't he? Even if the more he learns about them, the less he wants to know.</p><p>In which Asriel Dreemurr meets a skeleton and gets an education.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is No Crime In Being Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Asriel has internalized a bunch of toxic bullshit, and I debated exploring this, because when your POV character makes mistakes, sometimes it's hard to show that they're in the wrong. But. Asriel Dreemurr is actually a little shitter, and this is maybe the first chapter where we really get to see that. Rest in kill, Asriel. 
> 
> \--
> 
>  
> 
> Not everyone is out to screw you over. Maybe, yeah just maybe, they just wanna [get to know you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9txg0XicoJ0).

“But how are there  _ trees _ down here?” you ask yet again, gesturing broadly with your free hand at the dark trunks of pines standing tall to either side. The cavern ceiling here is even higher than that above the old, ruined castle, and to either side of the well-trodden path down which Chara drags you, snow-covered evergreens do their best to make you forget that you’re literally under a mountain. “There’s no sunlight! What about photosynthesis?”

“You didn’t say anything about the tree in the ruins,” Chara points out. “What’s so special about these ones?”

If you're honest, Chara's right: you don't care about the tree life that much. You're not a botanist. But for now, talking about the trees is the only distraction you can think of to keep Chara from picking another fight with Frisk. You've already had to cut them off when they started to bring up Frisk's mom again; you'll be lucky if you can keep the conversation away from _ that _ until you manage to get home. Whatever curiosity you may have had about the monsters living under Mt. Ebott has been replaced with the surety that you do not want to get involved in anything to do with them. You're going to go home and never tell anybody about this.

Still, you've got to keep the conversation going. You try (and probably fail, if the furrowed fur above Chara’s eyes is any indication) to explain that you’re boggled more by the sheer quantity and apparent health of the trees—they all look to be thriving, their branches full with dark green needle leaves. You wouldn’t have expected this dim, artificial light to be able to support such plant life.

Speaking of, where does the light even come from? And why, with no sky or clouds or weather system, is there snow covering the ground and trees all around you?

“Magic,” Frisk says. You wait for an elaboration, but apparently that’s all the explanation you’re going to get.

It’s certainly cold enough in this part of the underground for the snow, at least. You’d started shivering as soon as the three of you left the ruins, your sneakers doing nothing to keep your toes from freezing immediately, your sweater making a token effort at keeping your torso warmed. With Chara tugging you along as they were, you couldn’t even jam your hands under your armpits to try to conserve heat. Your breath came out in puffs of white fog, and soon enough your teeth were chattering. 

“You’re cold,” Frisk had observed. You’d looked at them, covered in thick fur, not so much as flinching when their bare toes crunched through the snow.

“Y-Yeah,” you’d stuttered through your teeth clicking together. “But if the exit’s t-this way, I’ll just have to d-d-deal with it.” And you’d put on your best smile, the one you practiced in the mirror so you wouldn’t embarrass Mom and Dad whenever you were on the news with them. (It had served the double purpose of satisfying your teachers, when you lied that everything was okay between you and your classmates, as well.)

Frisk had regarded you silently for a moment longer, but with how much practice you’d had holding that expression, you hadn’t worried about faltering under their stare. Then they’d raised one hand, and with a twist of their wrist, a silvery mote of fire was dancing at their fingertips. Without a word, they'd tossed it at you.

You'd shrieked. But instead of lighting you on fire, the little wisp had bobbed around you, orbiting you like a wobbly little planet. Warmth had flooded you from your ears to your toes, even as the flame remained circling you at a distance around your shoulders.

Not to be outdone, Chara had summoned their own golden fire, and soon enough you had two small satellites, warm like coming in from the winter cold to one of Dad’s big hugs and a fresh cup of tea. Awed by the versatility of monster magic, and no longer chilled and shaking, you could spare your attention to direct the conversation to other details of this new part of the underground—such as the trees.

You don't really have to fake your interest in your surroundings _ too _ much, though. There's so much more down here than you could have imagined. Even if you don't want to get any more involved in this mess between Chara and Frisk than you've already managed, you’re truly grateful they found you when they did. If you _ had _ tried to venture through the underground on your own, seeking another exit, who knows what would have happened. How can there be so much space under Mt. Ebott? 

“When will we reach the exit?” you ask. You don't want to be rude, but when Chara had said it was on the other side of the mountain, that didn't actually answer your question.

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Chara says, waving their free hand dismissively in front of them. An accurate answer, you suppose, but not one that tells you anything, and you frown. Chara, looking ahead as they walk, doesn’t see your expression. But when they turn their head to look back over their shoulder at you, you slap a smile back in place, and they grin in return. “While we’re on our way, you can tell me about the surface!” 

It might be phrased as a suggestion, but their bossy tone makes it come off more like an order, especially as they pull you up to walk abreast so they can fix you with an intense red stare. On your other side, Frisk appears. They’re not touching you; enough space remains that the small wisps of fire still have plenty of room to wobble about without touching any of you in their orbit. But Frisk’s presence seems to almost physically weigh on you, a silent demand that crushes you between them and Chara. Put on the spot, you freeze in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. 

“Um,” you start, articulate and composed. “There’s, um. The sky?” 

You’re fully expecting Chara’s derision and Frisk’s disappointment. But both monsters’ attentions remain firmly fixed on you, and you stumble. Chara catches you, grip on your wrist tightening as they pull you up and give you no choice but to keep walking with them. You look at your feet as you talk, ostensibly to prevent you from tripping again. “I mean, you’ve seen it through the hole where I fell, so you probably know already.” Neither monster interrupts you, but you keep your head down, stepping carefully over a long branch so you don’t trip yourself again. “It was really nice out today. Sort of cloudy, but the sun was really bright and warm. I guess it’s setting by now, so everything’s gonna be orange and pink and red, and all the shadows are really long and kinda purple-y.”

The sun is setting, and you're not home yet, and you can't answer your phone. Dad is probably trying not to panic, while Mom’s probably started calling people to figure out where you are. You saw them just this morning when you left for school, yet when you think of them, there’s a cold fog around your heart and filling your chest. 

You won’t cry. You drag your thoughts back to here and now, forcing yourself to keep talking. “The days are getting shorter, because it's fall. In the summer, the sun doesn't go down ‘til eight or nine, but now it gets dark after seven.” You risk a look up at Frisk, and their expression is unreadable as ever. A glimpse to your other side shows Chara with a look on their face you’ve yet to see before now. Their eyes aren’t focused on you, and their near constant smile has dropped, replaced with something more wistful. You can’t keep looking at them, not with that look on their face, so you lower your gaze once more. “Since there weren’t a lot of clouds out today, the moon will probably be really easy to see. It was full a couple days ago, I think, so it’ll be smaller tonight.” Do they know what the moon even is? Maybe you should have started with that, but you don’t want to irritate them by assuming they don’t know things if they already do. And how do they tell day from night, down here? You’ll have to ask, at some point. “You can’t see a whole lot of stars from the city, but you can at least find Orion, and sometimes some planets, I think?”

You love the stars. A couple times, during the summer, you and Mom and Dad went out to see Dad’s family in the country, and at night, you could go out in the big open field behind their house and lie down and your entire vision was filled with nothing but the sparkling spill of the milky way, up and down and all around you, and if you tilted your head back so far you could see the dark horizon of the ground in the top of your vision, you’d feel dizzy even though you were already lying on the ground, supported by the soft earth, grass tickling your ears. You kind of wish you could live out there all the time, instead of in the city where nobody likes you. You’d be able to see the stars every night, and if you didn’t have friends, it would be because there was nobody out there to  _ be _ your friend, not because everyone had decided you were a stupid crybaby.

“Halt! Who goes there!”

The shout pulls you abruptly from your musings. It's an outrageous voice that belongs to neither Frisk nor Chara, and with such a ridiculous phrase besides—who even says something like that?—you can't help but laugh as you raise your head to see what new monster yelled it.

You choke on your giggles as soon as you see the towering figure in front of you. The skeleton stands easily twice your height, if not more, hands on its hips as it looks down at you. Its dark, hollow eye sockets somehow pin you with a stare that stops you in your tracks, and its red scarf billows out behind it in the inexplicable underground breeze. Though it’s garbed in some sort of armour, you guess, it doesn’t appear to be carrying any weapons—but Chara and Frisk are proof enough that monsters don’t need any physical means to be dangerous. 

Frisk steps forward, placing themself between you and the skeleton, and they hold up their arms. You tense, expecting the spark and flare of fire in their hands. Is this sort of thing going to keep happening until you finally manage to leave? Are monsters just predisposed to fighting each other? It's one thing after another—why can’t any of this wait until after you’re safely home? 

“Well! If it isn’t my two favourite boss monsters!” the skeleton exclaims, swooping down to grab Frisk and swing them up, spinning them about and then hugging them. Frisk wraps their arms about the skeleton’s shoulders, their legs dangling as they’re held in the embrace, and they laugh, a clear sound of delight that strikes your heart like sunshine. 

It shouldn’t surprise you so much to see them this happy. You’ve hardly known them two hours (though with your phone broken, you’ve got no real way to tell the time). You certainly don’t know them well enough to have any idea of their full personality. But until now, all the smiles you’d seen from them have seemed somehow reserved, so much smaller than any of Chara’s. Even their anger was restrained, popping out in small bursts before being reeled back in and tied tightly down. The freedom of their laughter is startlingly pleasant.

“We’re the  _ only _ boss monsters you know,” Chara says, with a roll of their eyes. The skeleton shifts Frisk to one arm, regarding the two of you. 

“Well, yes,” says the skeleton, with that ridiculous voice, somehow both high-pitched and gravely at once, “but that doesn’t stop you from being my favourites!”

You don’t think that’s how it works, and judging by Chara’s flat smile, they aren’t impressed. But in the next instant, the skeleton’s attention is on you. “Hello! I see Frisk and Chara have brought you here to introduce you to me, the Great Papyrus! It must be overwhelming to meet someone so famous and well-liked, but fear not! I am but a regular, if not extraordinary, monster just like you! There is no need to feel intimidated by me!”

Your jaw  _ has  _ dropped, but despite what the skeleton thinks, it’s not in awe. Who calls themself ‘the Great’ anything? 

“Don’t worry, he’s harmless,” Chara whispers. Papyrus doesn’t seem to hear, as he drops down to one knee in front of you and extends the arm that isn’t supporting Frisk. 

“Let us greet each other as new friends with a handshake!” he declares. Moving on automatic, you gingerly place your hand in his. He wears red gloves, but through them you can feel hard bones, and the fabric is cold. Despite his overenthusiasm, his grip is firm but not tight, his fingers wrapping around the flesh of your hand securely, but without pain or discomfort. “What is your name?” he asks, after letting go of your hand, excitement colouring his voice. “Are you a boss monster as well?”

You start to answer, and get as far as saying, “I,” before Chara’s palm is over your mouth. Your protest is muffled, and you grab at their hand, but they simply increase the pressure, and you feel their blunt claws making indents in your cheeks. The fingers of their other hand around your wrist are inescapable; you could swear you feel the two bones in your forearm being pushed closer together.

Their eyes are gleaming and their grin is narrow as they ask Papyrus, “What makes you think that?”

“They’ve got the same cute little ears as you and Frisk!” he answers, and with one gloved hand, he indicates the thick locks of hair that frame your face.

You finally pry Chara’s paw off, though you suspect it’s less that you succeeded and more that they allowed it. You frown at them, but they pay you no mind as they pluck at your hair with the paw that had formerly been over your mouth. To be fair, you suppose the way it’s styled  _ does _ resemble Chara and Frisk’s long ears. And it  _ is _ stupidly pale—Mom calls it ‘platinum blond’ but your classmates call it ‘weird and freakish.’ In the dim light of the underground, there’s very little difference between your hair’s light hue and Frisk and Chara’s fur. 

You’d asked, once, if you could dye it a darker shade. You’d thought Mom wouldn’t mind—it wasn’t as if you were asking to dye it green, or anything, and then maybe your classmates would shut up for five minutes, if you had a hair colour that matched their expectations of how someone with skin as dark as yours should look. But Mom had asked you why you wanted to dye it, and you couldn’t tell her the truth and you couldn’t think of a lie that would convince her, so you’d dropped the topic. 

Funny how down here, the colour makes you fit in more than stand out. Still, you correct Papyrus’s assumption. “That's my  _ hair_,” you say, batting Chara’s hand away from your face. “My ears are here.” You brush you hair behind one ear and point at it.

“What!” Papyrus exclaims. Frisk slips from his hold, their bare toes sinking back into the snow, and both they and Papyrus lean in close to peer at the side of your head. On your other side, Chara lifts your hair to take a closer look, and their little claws trace the outer shell of your ear. 

The noise you make is not loud enough to be a yelp, but startled and high-pitched nonetheless, as you backpedal rapidly and wind up stumbling onto your rear. Despite the magic fire that circles you, the cold of the snow immediately seeps into your pants, and your face scrunches up. Chara, still holding onto your wrist (for all the good it’s done you), looks down at you with wide, bewildered eyes. 

“Oh, my!” says Papyrus. “Are you all right? What happened?” He extends a gloved hand toward you, and you take it. Chara offers no support from their grip on your wrist, and it winds up being solely Papyrus who helps you back up to your feet. For a moment you wonder how a skeleton, all bones and no muscle, can have such strength, but you’re willing to bet your entire allowance that if you ask, the answer will be ‘magic.’ 

“I was just surprised,” you say, shaking your head. Admitting that it kind of tickled strikes you as a bad idea—admitting that you’re ticklish at all is always,  _ always _ the worst of ideas. Nobody can be allowed to know. You settle on saying, rather pointedly, “Normally, people don’t come up and touch my ears.” Chara snickers, and you frown at them.

“I see!” Papyrus says, as though you’ve revealed some profoundly important knowledge to him, not simply made up an excuse for how you screamed like a baby when Chara’s claw touched your ear. He turns to Chara, then, and crosses his arms. You’re sure his eye sockets can’t change shape, nor can his jaw—he’s a  _ skeleton_, it’s all  _ bone_—but somehow he looks stern, as he says, “You must respect others’ personal space! Just as you would want them to respect yours!”

Chara huffs and looks to the side. It’s a familiar reaction—you’ve done it yourself, when Mom is right about something and you don’t want to admit it. You’re pretty sure they’d have crossed their arms if they weren’t still holding on to you. Honestly, they don’t  _ need _ to keep hanging on to your wrist like that. You’re not going to get lost if they let go of you for one minute. 

“Still, I must admit!” Papyrus is saying. “Even I, the Great Papyrus, a famous Royal Guardsman admired by many, have never met a monster that looks quite like you before!”

“Oh!” You offer him an insincere smile. Even though Frisk and Chara recognized you right away, you guess not every monster will know. “That’s because I’m not a monster. I’m human.”

You’re not imagining it; Papyrus’s eye sockets  _ do _ go wide, and his jaw  _ does  _ change shape. His hands fly up to his cheekbones, and his jaw drops. “Oh. My. God!” he exclaims, loud enough that you’re surprised the whole mountain doesn’t echo with it. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting to meet a human!” 

Frisk sets a gentle paw on Papyrus’s elbow, and immediately the skeleton’s expression changes yet again, his eyesockets drooping. “And you’ve already been found! By Frisk and Chara! Truly, this is the most cruel of tragedies!”

His voice is so distraught, over—what? Not being the first monster to find you? He might be twice your height, but he’s acting half your age. Still, you summon up a concerned voice to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Human!” Papyrus yells, and you flinch back. Beyond the annoyance of Papyrus's volume, being addressed as simply ‘human’ makes you frown. But do you want to bother introducing yourself to him? He did ask your name earlier, but it feels weird to interrupt now to bring that back up. You're not sure it's worth the effort to attempt to make yourself heard, especially while he's still going on. “As a Royal Guardsman, it is my duty to watch for fallen humans and escort them to the capital! I had planned! Such puzzles and japes for you! To confound you on your way to town! Before I would take you to the King and Queen!”

You scratch at your chin, a nervous smile crawling on your face. At your side, Chara stage-whispers an explanation: “The exit we’re taking you to is through the King and Queen’s castle in the capital.” 

“But now! That you have already been found by Frisk and Chara! You are in the best of all possible hands, save for my own, and there is no need for me to escort you anywhere at all!” Papyrus laments. The features of his skull have somehow fallen to form a perfect picture of agony. 

You should probably feel some sort of sympathy for this overly enthusiastic skeleton. He stuck up for you and your personal space, and he’s been nothing but kind and excited to meet you. Even if he is oblivious and self-centered, it seems that if you’d encountered him before meeting Frisk and Chara, he’d also have happily helped you find your way home. But now, his antics are taking up time when you could be making your way to the exit. Chara seems to be regarding him with an expression of, if not exasperation, patient tolerance. Frisk, on the other hand, is smiling, small and soft. Neither of them seems about to interrupt Papyrus, so apparently it’s up to you to find a way to divert his attention to something else so you can extract yourself.

“Why, uh,” you flounder for a distraction. “Why’d you have puzzles and,” you pause. What was that weird word he’d used? “Japes?”

Papyrus’s jaw drops as though you’ve given him a grave insult. Belatedly, you realize this was probably the wrong thing to ask if you wanted to get him to shut up so you could keep moving. It’s Chara who cuts in with an answer, though. “Didn’t we tell you?” they say. “It’s tradition. Puzzles are very important in monster culture.”

“Papyrus is very good at them,” Frisk adds.

Against all logic, warn spots of colour appear on the skeleton's face. He laughs, an absurd, “Nyeh-heh-heh!” that makes your ears ring a little bit. Grinning in a way that perhaps he thinks is suave, he brings one hand to his chin, and an inexplicable breeze tugs at his red scarf. “It is an honour to have my formidable talents recognized for how incredible they are!” 

Must he pat himself on the back even when accepting a compliment? You’re beyond ready to leave him behind and continue your journey through the underground. But apparently you’re the only one who feels this way; Frisk's soft smile grows, and they pat Papyrus on the shoulder. “Show them,” they say. “Bet humans don't have such good puzzles on the surface.”

You open your mouth to protest—you've already taken this long, and Chara says you still have a ways to travel. You can't afford to be waylaid by pointless delays every ten feet. You need to get _ home!  _ But before you can voice a single syllable, Papyrus gives a gleeful shout.

“May I?” he asks at a yell, clearly elated as he shoots up to his feet, towering over you once again. He hops excitedly from foot to foot, his hands raised in happy little fists. “I promise, human, you will not regret it! My puzzles are beyond compare!”

You’re already regretting it. But you’re starting to see what Mom meant when she explained how she and Dad have to sometimes go to publicity events and shake hands and play nice with people they don’t like. If you’re honest with the skeleton about how you feel, it’s clearly going to alienate you from Frisk, whose help you still need to leave this place. The worst Papyrus is doing is wasting your time, but he's not _ stopping _ you, only slowing you down. The seat of your pants is still cold and wet, and you can feel the snow seeping into your sneakers, not made to withstand winter weather, but Chara and Frisk’s fire is still keeping you warm otherwise, and the mild hunger you feel can be ignored for now. You can play along.

Papyrus winds up giving Frisk a piggy-back ride as the four of you make your way to the first of his puzzles, while Chara stomps through the snow next to and slightly ahead of you, still holding tight to your wrist. Despite the chill in the air, you think you might actually be sweating under their grip. Save for Papyrus’s exuberant voice as he explains the rules to each puzzle, the snowy forest underground is calm and quiet. Sometimes in the distance, through gaps between the trees, you catch sight of little homes, warm lights shining through the windows, thick snow piled on the angled rooftops. Soft ambient light casts everything in a grey glow, and sparse snowflakes leisurely flutter down from the rocky ceiling so far above you. You examine one closely before it melts on the arm of your sweater, and are surprised to find that it looks just like a regular snowflake, six intricate geometric points and all. 

Each time you successfully figure out one of Papyrus’s puzzles, he appears sincerely pleased. He applauds you for solving the simplest maze you’ve ever walked in your life, and you grit your teeth at the clearly fake and condescending praise. All you had to do was trace his footprints; what’s so impressive about that? You ignore him when he offers hints to a series of magic switches you have to walk over in the right order (which actually requires you to think a little bit), and when he joyfully proclaims how proud of you he is when you arrive at the correct solution on your third attempt, you don’t allow yourself to preen, instead insisting on moving on. 

Between puzzles, you encounter other monsters—other members of the Royal Guard, you learn. You’re nearly bowled over by a fluffy, excited white dog, who pushes its head into your hand, eager for pets, tail wagging furiously. Bipedal and wearing a suit of armour, it’s exactly the kind of monster you’d expect to see in some Saturday-morning cartoon, only come to life, its fur soft between your fingers, its nose wet and quivering, its armour clanking. When it turns to Chara to beg to be pet, its wagging tail hits you in the leg, just like a real dog. The sword and shield it holds look like they belong in a museum, made with heavy metal and leather bindings. By the time Frisk and Papyrus have finished petting it, its tail is wagging so fast you think it might take off like a helicopter. And was its neck that long when you first saw it?

The next two Guard Dogs you meet—and you have to stop yourself from snickering when you think of the pun, because you’re not sure you can explain it to Chara and Frisk—wear dark robes that make you think of cheap Halloween costumes, and carry axes with blades that probably weigh more than you do. They growl about your smell being unidentifiable, and Chara reassures them that you’re simply some kind of weird puppy. Before you can explain that no, actually, you’re human, both dogs are distracted by Papyrus, asking him first how his brother is doing, and then if he’ll throw them a bone. The skeleton grinds his teeth at the second question, but with a wave of his arm, summons a bone in the same manner that Frisk and Chara call forth fire. You have only a moment to stare in awe, before he throws it into the trees, and both dogs disappear, racing after it.

So it goes, the four of you making your way through the snowy underground, meeting dogs and solving puzzles, until finally you’re brought to what Papyrus proclaims is the last, and most difficult, of all his challenges. You regard the icy platform, dotted with snow drifts and magic switches like those you’ve seen in previous puzzles, and you decide that you’ll solve this one on the first go.

Not because you care about impressing Papyrus. It’s just that this has taken so  _ long_. You’d rather solve it as quickly as possible. 

Moments later, Chara’s actually let go of your wrist so that you don’t drag them down with you as you slip and fall on your rear. Your momentum carries you across the ice until you hit one of the snow drifts, which is admittedly a soft, but chilling, landing. As you try to push yourself up without actually putting your bare hands into the snow or on the ice, you notice that Frisk and Chara’s fire, while still providing you warmth, doesn’t have any effect on the snow, not melting it no matter how close it gets. 

You trudge back to the start of the puzzle, to the tune of Chara’s snickers. Papyrus is watching intently with his hands at his mouth, no doubt holding himself back from giving you a hint until you expressly ask for one. Frisk might be looking at you, or they might have fallen asleep, still on Papyrus’s back; you can’t tell. You square your shoulders, and try again.

After your fifth time falling flat on your ass, Chara’s still snickering, but not as loudly. Apparently the sight of your legs flying out from underneath you isn’t as funny as it was the first four times. “Are you done yet?” they call out to you, as you spin to a slow stop on the ice. “Just let Papyrus tell you the answer so we can go.”

You push yourself to stand back up (a process that takes at least a minute or two, as your hands and feet keep sliding out from under you) and glare at them. You  _ know _ you could ask Papyrus to tell you how to get past this puzzle. More than that, you probably should. Weren’t you the one who didn’t want to spend more time on pointless distractions than you had to?

“Shut up,” you grumble at Chara, gingerly making your way back to the start of the puzzle. “I’ll figure it out on my own.” 

They roll their eyes. “We’ll be here all night, then!” You frown and look away from them. Your nose is heating up, and when you blink, your eyelashes are wet. Great. This is stupid, it’s just a stupid puzzle made by a stupid skeleton and it’s taking up all your time. It shouldn’t matter to you. It isn’t going to mean anything to anyone if you solve it or not, because Papyrus will smile at you either way, and Chara’s already figured out what an idiot you are, and Frisk’s determined to act like nothing even matters to them, and and you’ll leave this place soon enough and never see any of these monsters ever again, so who even cares? You should just give up. 

Papyrus (and possibly Frisk) is watching you, and Papyrus grins when he notices you looking his direction. “You can do it, little human!” he cheers you on, waving. He doesn’t seem at all bored or disappointed. Frisk, actually awake after all, offers you a stoic thumbs up from their position on Papyrus’s shoulders.

You huff out a cloudy breath, clench your firsts, and turn back to the puzzle.

It takes two more attempts, but you finally trip across the last switch in the correct order, and a bridge unfolds across a chasm and into the next dense crowd of trees. Papyrus cheers, racing with sure steps across the ice to pick you up, his bony hands under your armpits as he lifts you easily and spins you around. “Well done, little human!” he yells, right in your face. Frisk hangs gamely from his back, legs and little tail swinging out with the momentum. They might be smiling at you over his shoulder, but it's hard to tell. Papyrus is still shouting at you. “I knew you could figure it out!” You find yourself smiling at his huge skeletal grin, even as your ears protest his voice and you wobble a little unsteadily when he sets you back on your feet.

“My name’s Asriel,” you blurt, once you’re standing on your own again.

Before you can cover your mouth, or ask yourself why you said that, Papyrus claps his hands and joyfully exclaims, “What a good name!” A little smile inches its way onto your face, despite yourself. He goes on to ask, “What pronouns do you use, Asriel?”

You furrow your brow, your smile dropping in your confusion. You look to Frisk over Papyrus’s shoulder, but their expression is unchanged, and a glance to Chara tells you nothing. Neither of them are acting as though Papyrus’s question is out of the ordinary. Looking up at the skeleton, you repeat, “Pronouns?”

“Yes!” Papyrus nods, somehow making even such a simple motion seem enormous and enthusiastic. “Do you use she, he, they, or perhaps something else?”

“Do I use—I’m a  _ boy_,” you say flatly. “Can’t you tell just by looking?”

“Not at all!” Papyrus says, sounding almost proud of the fact. “It would be rude to assume! Simply based on looks!”

For babies, maybe—they all look the same, chubby and round and burbling, and it’s best to wait until the parent says something than to try to guess. But for someone as old as you, it should be obvious! Even if your hair is a little longer than most boys’, and your eyelashes are, admittedly, kind of thick, and you cry  _ way too much_—despite all that, you’re still a boy! It’s not like you’ve got boobs or anything. If Papyrus can’t figure out something so simple, then, well, he’s just a moron. You open your mouth and almost start to say as much, before remembering why you’ve been putting up with him for this long. You close your mouth.

Then again, maybe you’re judging too quickly. Papyrus is a skeleton. If Chara hadn’t used ‘he’ when speaking about Papyrus, you wouldn’t have had any way to know. And Papyrus didn’t even know you were human when he met you, so now that you think about it, of course he wouldn’t know how boy humans look different from girl humans.

Your eyes dart to Frisk and Chara. You hadn’t thought at all about whether they were girls or boys, too occupied with the fact that they were  _ monsters_. And when they talked about each other, they hadn’t used ‘she’ or ‘he,’ and you’d simply followed suit. 

You huff. “I’m a boy,” you repeat, trying to drain the annoyance from your voice. “I use ‘he.’” 

“Thank you for letting me know, Asriel!” says Papyrus, once more acting as though you’ve bestowed some fantastic knowledge upon him, rather than something as simple as your gender. “I’m Papyrus, and I also use ‘he!’”

You raise your eyebrows at the fact that he didn’t say he was a boy, but decide you don’t care. Looking over his shoulder at Frisk, you wonder if this is standard for monster introductions—neither they nor Chara asked you this. Maybe Papyrus is only asking because you’re human, and that’s why he can’t tell. Since Chara and Frisk knew you were human, does that mean they knew already that you were a boy? But you still don’t know about them.

Frisk is closer, so you turn your attention to them and ask, “Are you a boy or a girl?” 

The bare their teeth at you, and the silver fire orbiting you flickers and flares. “Neither,” they say, voice low. “Use ‘they.’”

You take a step back, and Papyrus has to reach out to stabilize you as you start to slip on the ice again. “What do you mean, neither?” you ask, frowning. Their lips are still pulled back around their little fangs. Why are they making that kind of face at you, for a simple question like that? You roll your shoulder to dislodge Papyrus’s hand.

“They mean exactly what they said,” Chara says, walking toward you. “Same for me. This is one thing that Frisk and I agree on.” They’re smiling, but their eyes are narrowed as they stare you down. 

You almost take another step back, but for fear of falling on your rear again. “Is this a monster thing?” 

“Apparently!” Chara’s voice is high and chipper, completely at odds with the expression on their face. “If all humans are so narrow-minded that they think everyone has to be either a boy or a girl and can’t comprehend anything else!”

Your hands are in fists. “It’s weird!” you tell them, your own voice rising in response to theirs. Something so simple and basic as this—why are they getting so mad over it? 

“What an incredible opportunity!” says Papyrus, and you and Chara both turn bewildered stares up to the skeleton. “A cultural exchange between humans and monsters! Now Asriel has learned something new about monsters, and we have learned something new about humans!” He strikes another proud pose, one hand on his hip, the other an upraised fist. “For the record! I, also, am neither a boy nor a girl! I am the Great Papyrus!”

“But,” you stammer, “you’re a ‘he....’” 

“Indeed I am! My brother uses ‘he’ as well, and I wanted to match!” He nods, as though that explains everything. 

You feel like you’ve lost some kind of battle. The idea of someone who’s not a boy or a girl isn’t anything you’ve ever heard before. You want to say that it’s dumb, you almost want to be crass and immature and ask Frisk and Chara what’s in their pants, but you shut your mouth tight and cross your arms. Your dad’s voice echoes in your memory, that everyone has different cultures, and even if you don’t understand, as long as they’re not hurting anyone, you have to respect them. And then he’d laugh, and tell you that he and Mom had their own fair share of culture clashes when they were getting to know each other, but they learned and taught each other, and you’d roll your eyes because your parents were way too sappy and embarrassing. 

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. You were already thinking of Frisk and Chara as ‘they’ because you had no idea what they were, and you can keep doing so, and like everything else, you can forget all about this when you’re back safe at home.

“Well!” says Chara, tossing their head. Their ears flip up with the motion, before landing down on their shoulders exactly as they were before. “Now that we’ve got  _ that _ settled,” and they give you a look like they’re daring you to interrupt. You keep your mouth shut. “Shall we continue on our way?” 

You shrug, as though you don’t care, even as you’re certain Chara can see right through your act. You want nothing more than to get out of this place, where nothing makes logical sense and the answer to everything is ‘magic.’ Papyrus is loudly and happily agreeing, and he leads the way across the bridge and into the trees. Chara follows, and you stay standing where you are, your arms still crossed, your eyes lowered, as you wait for them to pass you. 

Their hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, pulling your arm away from your chest and dragging you, yelping and slipping and stumbling, after them. “Hey!” you yell, but they don’t stop or even slow down. It’s a relief when your feet leave the ice for the more stable wooden planks of the bridge.

Frisk and Chara’s magic flames still circle you, and Chara’s grip on your wrist is as secure and warm as it was before. It’s just as uncomfortable, too, but apparently they still want to be sure you make it to the exit with them. Maybe… maybe they aren’t as mad at you as you thought.

Not that you  _ care_, of course. They already think you’re an idiot, so it doesn’t matter to you if they’re angry with you, too. 

The path here is narrower than any you’ve traveled under Mt. Ebott yet. The trees press in so closely that thin branches reach out to snag your sweater. You get a scare when one of the wisps of fire orbiting you passes through a branch, but the tree doesn’t catch fire, and you exhale. Of course. Magic. It didn’t melt the snow, so why should it burn the trees? 

The four of you have to proceed single file, though Frisk still hangs from Papyrus’s back. Their little tail sways back and forth with every step. Chara, however, doesn’t have a tail hanging out, and you almost start to ask about that, before closing your mouth. You  _ just _ upset them. Maybe tails are another thing monsters take issue with. 

You emerge from the thick pines to cross another bridge, and before you know it, you’re headed into a clearing of merrily blinking lights and happy little houses. The town you find yourself walking into looks straight out of a storybook; every slanted roof covered in snow, warm light shining out of every window, fairy lights strung up along doorjambs and windows and awnings. Monsters mill about, exchanging pleasant greetings or stopping to chat or playing in the snow, bundled in thick jackets and scarves that look no different than what you’d see any human wear. There are monsters that look like rabbits and bears and mice, and ones that bear no resemblance to any animal you’ve ever seen before. 

In the center of the town, of course, there stands a decorated pine tree with wrapped presents underneath it, and something grows cold in your ribs despite Chara and Frisk’s flames. 

You have to respect different cultures, Dad told you. But it just figures that even monsters living under a mountain would celebrate the same holidays as your classmates, and not you. You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s not even winter yet! Then again, you guess that doesn’t matter much for monsters trapped without a sky, in this cold and snowy underground. You keep walking. Not as though you have a lot of choice, though, with Chara’s grip on your wrist strong as ever. 

As you truly enter the town, passing the welcome sign decorated with blinking rainbow lights, the monsters’ attention shifts to your procession. You’re quite abruptly hailed with friendly greetings—or rather, Papyrus, Frisk, and Chara are. Hi’s and hello’s and how-are-you-doing’s wash over your little group. Frisk waves back, Chara offers everyone cordial smiles, and Papyrus loudly returns each and every greeting. 

You’re starting to think that your impression of monsters as eager to fight was perhaps a little off. Then again, Chara  _ had _ said that they and Frisk were unique among monsters. Regardless, nearly everyone you pass on your way through the little town stops their conversations to say hello, or at least wave.

Because of this, it stands out starkly to you when two monsters who resemble giant birds with snowflake-shaped crests are silent as you pass. One of them wears sunglasses, and you can’t discern their expression at all. The other’s wide eyes seem to follow the four of you, a baleful stare made only more unnerving by its open beak full of actual teeth.

“It’s not like people are  _ required _ to say hello when they see us,” says Chara, their voice pitched low for only you to hear. You start, spinning your head to face forward, and find that they’re looking over their shoulder at you. As usual, a smile is on their face, but their eyes don’t seem to be focused on you, and the smile seems more habit than genuine. “Can’t blame the ‘drakes for being down after losing their mother.”

Without meaning to, your eyes go to Frisk, but they haven’t looked back to you, still enjoying their piggy-back ride from Papyrus. You wonder if they heard. Chara notices the direction of your gaze, and makes a dismissive ‘tch’ noise. 

You drop your eyes so that you won’t have to look at any of them, not Chara or Frisk or the ‘drakes. You still have a mom to go back to. There’s nothing you can say here that will help. 

“Anyway, this is the first town that was built after monsters left the ruins,” Chara tells you, changing the topic. They nod their head toward a building to your left, a sign in all caps above the door proclaiming it to be the ‘Librarby.’ You blink, and go over the letters again to make sure you haven’t misread, as Chara continues, “It’s all written down, if you’re curious. Our history. The way humans banished us underground, and how even after we’d been sealed away, everyone was still scared they’d come back to finish the job. It took years before the King and Queen could lead people out into the rest of the mountain, to build the new capital.”

It hasn’t got anything to do with you. You weren’t there, it’s not your fault, and Chara’s not even looking at you. 

“So you might want not want to tell everyone you meet right away, what you are,” they say, their eyes finally shifting back to focus on you. 

You’re saved from having to reply—or even react—as Papyrus comes to an abrupt halt in front of one of the biggest buildings you’ve seen in this little town so far. He spins around, stopping to face you with a dramatic flare that leaves Frisk swaying back and forth where they hang on his shoulders. “This!” he loudly declares, “is my home! Where my brother and I reside!” He grins down at you. “You still have quite some ways to travel before you reach the capital! Would you like to come in for a moment, and have some of my home-cooked spaghetti?”

On the one hand, it’s another pointless delay. But your feet are sore from walking, and even if Chara and Frisk’s magic is keeping you yourself from freezing over, it’s not keeping your shoes or clothes dry. 

By now, you should have been home and resting in bed, warm and comfortable under the covers, in your favourite plaid pyjamas, and stuffed full from a dinner your mom cooked. 

“If it’s not an inconvenience,” you find yourself saying.

“It is not an inconvenience at all!” Papyrus shouts, and turns to throw open the door to his home. 

You’re not sure what you’re expecting, as you and Chara follow Papyrus and Frisk into the building. But somehow you’re not really surprised to find a living room that looks just like a human home, with a sofa and a TV and a coffee table. There’s stairs to an upper level, and a doorway to a room with a linoleum tiled floor that’s probably a kitchen. As the door shuts behind you, both little motes of fire circling you blink out, and you grit your teeth so they don’t start chattering again.

“Please, make yourself at home!” says Papyrus, as he eases Frisk from his shoulders to the couch. The little monster settles bonelessly where Papyrus puts them, sinking into the cushions with an unexpected jingling noise. Their feet hang off the edge, not quite reaching the floor, and their toes curl and uncurl, like a cat kneading with their paws. Relieved of his hanger-on, Papyrus announces, “I will now prepare my famous spaghetti!” and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s still plenty of room on the couch; it’s wide enough that you think all four of you could comfortably sit on it. You look at Chara, who’s already watching you by the time your head turns to face them, and if you  _ had  _ been thinking of something to say, it dissolves into dust under their red stare. 

“ _What?_ ” they demand, voice sharp, and you shake your head. Papyrus’s house is warm, but your wet shoes sting coldly against your toes, your pants cling to you where snow soaked through when you fell, and your sweater hangs heavily from your shoulders. Some of your hair sticks to your cheeks, damp from melting snowflakes, and your nose is burning as it starts to run. Chara’s hand on your wrist burns as well, rubbing your sleeve uncomfortably against your arm.

Chara sighs, heavily and unnecessarily, and then tugs at your arm. They lead you over to the couch so that you’re between them and Frisk when you sit. The quiet boss monster hardly budges when you settle into the cushions next to them. You still can’t tell if they’re looking at you, and you guess it’s egotistical to assume that they would be just because their face is turned in the same direction where you happen to be.

Silence settles over the three of you, uncomfortable as whatever piece of the sofa is jabbing you in your back—some loose spring, maybe, or keys lost in the cushions, or couch monster magic, who knows. You shift and wiggle, but you can’t manage to escape it, and after about a miute of that, Chara lets go of your wrist to elbow you in the side and hiss, “Quit it!” You grimace, but before you can elbow them back, Frisk’s hand is on your shoulder. 

This close, you think you can almost see a dark pupil hiding between their barely parted eyelids. You roll your shoulder to get them to drop their hand, and they do so, but by now the moment has passed, and you settle back down into your uncomfortable seat without elbowing Chara in return. They lean back against the cushions as well. As awkward as this is, at least between the two of them, you can feel their body heat to either side, where your legs and shoulders bump against theirs. It doesn’t help your cold toes, and if you could, you’d rather have a nice blanket to huddle under, but it’s better than nothing.

You can hear the noises of Papyrus moving around in the kitchen, water running and pots clanging and one unnervingly loud banging noise, followed by a single splattering sound. “Nyeh-heh-heh!” comes Papyrus’s triumphant laugh, and you wonder, abruptly, if monster spaghetti is too terribly different from human spaghetti. 

You kick your feet against the sofa a little, before letting them fall still. You wish your phone still worked—not only to call your mom, but to play a game or distract yourself somehow. Neither Frisk nor Chara are looking at you or each other, and you  _ know _ the blank TV screen isn’t what’s holding their attention. You bring your free hand up and wipe at your running nose with your already-stained sleeve, wincing at the fresh pain that blossoms out through your face. There’s probably still smeared blood on your upper lip. Maybe you can use Papyrus’s bathroom to wash your face up a little bit. You have to wash your hands before you eat, anyway.

You hear Papyrus start humming to himself as he works in the kitchen, and you can’t deal with this for however long it’s going to take until the spaghetti’s ready. You cast desperately for something to say. “What’s this town called?”

There’s another stretch of silence, filled only with Papyrus’s humming and clattering, before Frisk answers you. “No name,” they say, quiet and somber. 

“None of our towns or landmarks have proper names,” Chara elaborates, leaning back into the cushions and staring up at the ceiling. “The Queen and King were going to name our homes, so nobody else ever suggested anything. Everyone was waiting for what the Queen and King would decide. By the time they realized that they wouldn’t be able to, people had just… gotten used to the way things were.”

“Think some people still hoped the King and Queen would get better,” comes Frisk’s voice again. The opposite of Chara, they’ve dropped their head until the fur on their chin brushes their shirt. “Didn’t wanna name a town if the King and Queen were gonna come back to do it.”

Chara snorts derisively. “Look how that turned out,” they sneer. Frisk only shrugs.

“What…” You swallow, then speak again, managing more than a whisper this time. “What happened to them? To the King and Queen?”

“Told you already,” Frisk chides, but their voice lacks any real edge. “Cursed.”

“It wasn’t enough for the humans to trap us in the dark for an eternity,” Chara snarls, with all the jagged and harsh anger that was lacking from Frisk’s tone. “They had to take away everyone’s hopes and dreams, too!”

You flinch when Frisk twists next to you and raises an arm, but they only reach across your frozen form to rest their hand on top of Chara’s fist. Chara inhales, deep and long and shaky, and then they throw Frisk’s hand off as they burst to their feet. “Don’t touch me!” they yell. “You might say you don’t like being angry, or act like you’re not bothered, but don’t expect me to calm down about this!”

“Scaring Asriel,” Frisk says.

Chara’s eyes settle on you, and it’s as though you start existing the moment they look at you, abruptly aware of your shoulders that are tense and pushed back into the cushions, your teeth grit and your fists clenched and your feet pressed flat on the floor. There’s wetness at your eyes, which you insist to yourself is remnants of snowflakes caught in your lashes when you entered the house. “I’m not scared!” you say, realizing only after the last word has left your mouth that you’re yelling. 

Chara lowers their hands, letting their fingers relax instead of flaring their claws out. Their shoulders drop, and they straighten out of the aggressive hunch they’d adopted. They toss their head, their ears falling back onto their shoulders, and cross their arms. “Good,” they say, stiffly, a long and thin smile on their face. “It’s good that you’re not scared.”

You’re not. They’re no more scary now than they were when Frisk left the two of you alone in the ruins, and you weren’t frightened then, either. “I’m not,” you repeat. 

“Good!” they yell.

Next to you, Frisk tilts their head, but says nothing. Chara remains standing, though they seem to have deflated a little, and you look toward the kitchen, but Papyrus doesn’t emerge. 

You want to go home. You’d been so hopeful when Frisk and Chara first found you, so excited about discovering the monsters under the mountain. You turn your head away from Frisk and to the side, leaning into the sofa cushions, your eyelids drooping. If only you’d never taken that dumb dare. If only you could go back to earlier this afternoon, and tell your idiot past self to turn around and go home. Your bed doesn’t have a loose spring that pokes you in the side, and there’s no snow on the ground yet, so your toes wouldn’t be cold in your wet shoes, and your nose wouldn’t hurt when you sniff, loudly, and wipe it again on your gross sleeve. 

Chara doesn’t come back to sit next to you. You think you hear their soft footsteps leave in the direction of the kitchen, but you don’t move to look. Your stomach is empty, your toes are cold, your head is heavy where you rest it on the cushions, and you have nobody to blame but yourself and your bad decisions. 

Maybe if you close your eyes, you’ll open them to find yourself in bed at home. Maybe this world of monsters and magic is nothing but a dream. Maybe you can wake up back in a world where things make sense. 

You let your eyes close.

  
  
  


You’re warm. 

  
  
  


“Should we wake them up?”

Papyrus’s voice is loud enough that you startle, your entire body jerking. There’s a thump, and the pleasant warmth you’d been basking in disappears, your entire front now cold and bereft. You open your eyes and find Frisk on the floor in front of you, minute motions on their face suggesting that they’re blinking up at the ceiling. Papyrus is hovering over them, flailing and asking if they’re all right, and Chara stands a few paces behind him, plates full of what’s presumably spaghetti in each hand. They’re smiling, as usual. It’s not necessarily a kind or pleasant expression, as usual.

Frisk accepts Papyrus’s help, letting the skeleton pull them back up to their feet, and once vertical, they lean on him. Their head barely reaches his hip. He fluffs their fur between their horns, and they yawn, holding up a paw in front of their mouth. You still can see their little fangs. 

“Enjoy your nap?” asks Chara. 

You frown at them. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but you  _ had _ enjoyed it—you pointedly don’t think about what was probably keeping you so comfortably warm—and you’d honestly like to get back to it, but for your grumbling stomach. Chara’s smirk only grows, as they step forward and hand you a plate, then sit themself down at the opposite end of the sofa, leaving plenty of space between you. Meanwhile Papyrus gets Frisk to let go of him and sit back down next to you, where they were before you fell asleep. “I will be right back!” he announces, before dashing once more into the kitchen. He’s returned in a near instant with two more plates, and you’re amazed the food doesn’t spill right off them with how fast he’s running. One plate goes to Frisk, and Papyrus keeps the other as he sits himself down on your other side, neatly filling the gap between you and Chara. 

“We’re eating on the couch?” you ask, feeling foolish even before you’ve finished speaking the last word. Frisk already has their fork in their mouth, and it’s clear that Papyrus isn’t planning on getting up or making the rest of you move to a dining room table or anything. Nobody’s washed their hands or said any kind of grace.

“Is that not good enough for you?” Chara asks, challenge clear in their voice.

“It’s fine!” You hurriedly turn your attention to your plate, and finally get your first real look at monster spaghetti. 

From your side, Papyrus says, “I hope you enjoy my culinary masterpiece! Tasting such excellence may ruin lesser meals for you, but do not worry! I will always be willing to share my spaghetti mastery with you!”

“Um,” you manage weakly, still staring at the plate on your lap. “Thanks.” 

Technically, it  _ is _ spaghetti, you can give it that. There are noodles and chunks of tomato present. But those are the only ways in which it resembles any pasta that you’re familiar with. To say the noodles are uncooked seems a little inaccurate, when clearly they’ve been heated; the ends are blackened and burnt. But they’re still hard and crunchy, untouched by water. The pieces of tomato haven’t been sliced, but rather mashed and pulpy, sloppily plopped onto the plate, and the green stem of the tomato remains connected to one of the red, seedy globs. As a final touch, instead of parmesan cheese or scallions, purple and pink sequins sparkle up at you. 

You glance quickly to either side. Chara has used their fork to break the noodles into smaller pieces, and is making their way through, one bite at a time. Their smile seems pasted flatly onto their face. Meanwhile Frisk’s plate is not only already empty, but they’re holding it up in front of their mouth and licking it clean. Papyrus, for his part, is trying very hard not to appear as though he’s watching for your reaction, pushing his own spaghetti around on his plate and tapping his feet and very obviously looking back and forth from you to the ceiling. 

You take a breath and whisper a quick, “Bismillah,” hoping nobody hears you, and you stab your fork into a pulpy piece of tomato to trap some noodles between the spokes. The sequins glitter in the light as you raise the fork to your mouth. 

You can’t quite keep your face from scrunching up as you crunch the burnt noodles between your teeth. Try as you might to quickly swallow it down, your throat refuses, and your cheeks bulge a little as you try not to spit it back out. Determined, you keep chewing, and a sequin gets stuck in your teeth.

Finally, you manage to get it down, and instead of the expected pain of swallowing something that’s not chewed quite enough, like a too-big piece of a tortilla chip, there’s a curious sensation in your throat a little like cool liquid washing through you. Your groggy exhaustion lifts, and you blink, alert and awake. 

“What do you think?” asks Papyrus. You can feel him bouncing in his seat a little next to you. 

You look up at him, feeling your eyebrows furrow. That grinning skull somehow manages to look hopeful and anxious both, and your earlier annoyance with Papyrus seems trite and misplaced. “It’s,” you start, and swallow again, your tongue trying to work that one sequin out from between your teeth. It’s not budging. “It’s really different from human food,” you settle on. 

“Obviously,” says Chara, waving their fork at you. “Human food is weird! It goes all the way through you! Regular food turns into energy as soon as you eat it.”

Of course even something as essential as eating is basically magic down here. You shouldn’t be surprised. That explains the weird feeling when you swallowed, though. You’re a little relieved to know you won’t have to worry about digesting sequins. 

Even with that reassurance, you’re not sure you can manage to eat any more. At least Papyrus seems satisfied at your non-answer, now happily cleaning his own plate. Frisk nudges you in your side, and when you look at them, they raise their eyebrows and nod toward your plate, before looking meaningfully down at their own empty one. You trade quickly while Papyrus isn’t looking, and Frisk once more starts crunching away. 

Chara, done with their meal, or at least having pushed enough of it around on their plate to make it look like they’ve eaten most of it, leans forward to look at Frisk. “Undyne called Papyrus while you were napping,” they say, something accusing to their tone, as though napping is a horrible crime. For a moment, you wonder who Undyne is, before the rest of what they said catches up to you.

You turn at the waist to look at Papyrus. “You have a phone?” 

“But of course!” he says, setting his fork down on his plate. You’re not sure where he reaches, because you don’t typically think of armour as having pockets, but when he brings his hand back around he’s holding a cell phone. It’s a little out of date—it actually has buttons on it—but it’s a  _ phone_.

“Can I use it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from hitting a frantic note.

“Abso-dapso-lutely!” He hands you the phone, and you put Frisk’s plate on their lap without asking, holding the old cell in both hands. You might not know most of the numbers programmed into your phone, but your mom’s—you know that. Your thumbs only shake a little as you punch the numbers in.

“Who are you calling?” Chara asks, but you hardly even realize the question’s directed at you as you enter the last number and hit send, then raise the phone to your ear. You’re looking straight ahead, but you don’t see the furnishings of Papyrus’s house, your eyes unfocused. The noises of Frisk snapping dry noodles between their teeth seem distant, as you wait for a ringtone.

The phone beeps at you, and a pre-recorded message plays. “We’re sorry,” says a pleasant voice. “The number you have dialed does not belong to any monster underground! Please double check, and try again!”

You bring your hand down, resting it on your lap and looking at the phone’s glowing screen. You can hear the message repeat itself, still distinctly cheerful, and you gently push the ‘End Call’ button before handing the phone back to Papyrus. 

You should have realized.

“Thanks, Papyrus,” you make yourself say, as he takes his phone back. 

“I am sorry you could not reach whoever you were trying to call!” he says, and you know he means it. You shake your head, and turn your attention back down to your empty hands on your lap. “But if they were someone on the surface, never fear! You will be back home soon! Undyne is going to meet us at the border to the marsh and escort you the rest of the way!”

You put a grateful smile on your face, and you listen as Papyrus explains, “Undyne is a member of the Royal Guard, like me! In fact, she and I are co-vice-captains!” You don’t really know how high a captain is in the chain of command, but it sounds like it should be impressive, so you let yourself look suitably wowed. Though if Undyne’s anything like Papyrus, you’re honestly a little worried for the state of the Guard. What are they even supposed to be guarding against? “Once I told her that Frisk and Chara were taking you to the capital, she volunteered to help as well!” he continues. “Isn’t that great?”

Frisk pauses in licking their second plate clean, stopping with their tongue still flat against it. Slowly they lean forward and look past you and Papyrus to Chara, who meets their gaze with a shrug and an expression you can’t decipher. Frisk lowers the plate and puts their tongue back in their mouth. You think they might be frowning, but as always, it’s hard to tell. 

“I am sure you will like Undyne,” Papyrus says to you. “She is my rival for the position of Captain of the Royal Guard! As well as! The title of Best Spaghettore Of The Underground!” 

It’s confirmed: you’re worried for the state of the Royal Guard. 

Papyrus sees that your plate is empty, and, happily crowing about how much you clearly loved his cooking, collects everyone’s dishes to take them to the kitchen. Frisk slides from the sofa to stand up, exchanging another look with Chara, who also rises. 

“Well,” Chara says, turning to you with a grin, their hands on their hips. “Like Papyrus said, there’s still a ways to go before we reach the capital, and it sounds like Undyne is waiting to meet us! We should be heading out.” 

You’re certain you’re missing something in those silent glances between the two monsters, but Papyrus returns to the living room then. “Before we depart!” he says, brushing his gloves off, and briefly you wonder if he wore those same gloves while cooking. Would that be better or worse than him handling the food you ate with the bare bones of his fingers? You shake your head, trying to dislodge the thought. He’s still talking to Frisk and Chara, asking if his brother has been by to check on them and deliver their allowances recently.

Frisk nods, and Chara says, “Right on time, as always. For a guy who’s so lazy, he’s actually pretty good at doing his job.”

“I wish he would show the same dedication to cleaning up after himself!” Papyrus grumbles, and you recognize well enough the fond exasperation of an ongoing family disagreement. Chara and Frisk both let out small giggles at Papyrus’s frustration. 

“Ready?” Chara asks, turning to you. Reluctantly, you get up, leaving the sofa and its loose spring behind. 

Before Papyrus opens the door, the small silver and gold fires that had kept you warm before reappear, bobbing back into existence on either side of you before resuming their slow, wobbly orbit. Your jaw drops a little, as you look to Frisk and Chara. They remembered. 

Frisk tilts their head toward the door, and you smile at them, then Chara. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Chara says with a shrug. Their pink nose twitches. You let them grab your wrist once again, and follow them out the door.

The four of you leave Papyrus’s house, and you notice he doesn’t actually lock the door behind him. Then again, as you resume your path through the town and are once more cheerfully greeted by every monster you pass, you guess he probably doesn’t need to. 

After you pass the last building in the little town, the carpet of snow under your feet gets steadily thinner and thinner. There are fewer trees, and as they disperse, a wide river is revealed curving along next to the path. The cavern ceiling starts to descend enough to remind you that it exists, as the cave walls also close in. You remember that you are, in fact, trapped below a mountain. The light reflected off the snow dims, and dirt begins to crunch beneath your shoes, though the ground is still damp enough for you to leave footprints. 

You spot a figure waiting ahead, their armour gleaming with blue highlights from glowing rocks that dot the stone walls around you. A bright flare of red hangs from their helmet, too far away for you to tell if it’s hair or fabric or something else entirely. As you approach, they turn to face you, and you get a good look at the sharp angles and fierce teeth of their helmet, before they reach up and remove it.

“Papyrus!” they shout, and you see that their actual teeth are just as enormous and jagged as the ones on their armour. Their skin is blue and scaley, and the shock of red is apparently their hair after all. One yellow eye is intently fixed on your small procession. The other is covered with an eyepatch, and you try not to stare. 

“Hello, Undyne!” Papyrus yells back, and you wince preemptively. You’re not ready for two monsters with Papyrus’s volume level, especially now that the cavern walls are closer, trapping echoes of sound. 

“And you little punks! How have you been!” she demands, striding forward, armour clanking loudly with each forceful step. She grabs Papyrus in a headlock as soon as she’s close enough, grinning hugely with her sharp yellow teeth. 

“Please don’t noogie the skeleton!” Papyrus pleads, tugging ineffectually at her arm. Undyne doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t noogie him either, too busy giving Chara a high five that echoes in the cavern. You look to Frisk, expecting them to do the same, but they instead hang back, raising their hand only to wiggle their fingers in a small wave. 

“There they are!” she says, and it’s almost as if Chara pushes themself to stand a little taller. They and Frisk are already on their toes, the structure of their legs being what they are, but Chara’s definitely preening under the attention, chin high and shoulders squared. 

“You saw us just yesterday,” Chara dismisses, but their voice betrays them, a warm tone sneaking into their words in response to Undyne’s enthusiasm.

“Yeah, I did!” she crows, as though it’s the punchline to the greatest joke. Still grinning, she nods at Frisk, and then her eye comes to rest on you.

“And you must be Asriel,” she says. Her arm drops from around Papyrus’s shoulder, letting the skeleton straighten. The two of them stand nearly the same height, now that she doesn’t have him trapped in a hold, though Undyne strikes a much more intimidating figure. Maybe it’s her full armour, or her intense stare as she looks you up and down, or the teeth that look like they could snap a metal pipe in half. “You are one lucky human, to have their highnesses personally escorting you to the capital!”

Something about the way she says ‘human’ makes you remember Chara’s warning about not announcing that little fact to every monster you meet. That’s quickly forgotten, however, as you hear the rest of what she has to say.

“Their highnesses?” you repeat.

Undyne throws her head back to laugh. Next to you, Frisk raises one hand to fiddle with the fur on the end of one ear, and Chara looks pensive. “Did we forget to mention?” they ask. For once, there’s no sarcasm in their tone.

“Frisk and Chara are boss monsters!” Papyrus says, as though that explains everything. “They are the heirs to the throne!” He sets a gloved hand on Frisk’s shoulder, and they tug at their ear again. 

Undyne, meanwhile, musses up the fur between Chara’s horns with enough force that their whole head goes back and forth. “One of these punks is gonna be a great leader one day!” By the way she grins down at Chara, you have a pretty clear idea of which one she thinks it’s going to be. They grin back up at her, seeming not to mind the rough affection at all.

You’re gaping, you know, but surely that’s a reasonable reaction to learning that this entire time, you’d been accompanied by royalty. A number of things make much more sense, now—your mind brings up the happy greetings of everyone in town, and Chara’s quick, intense anger at recalling the curse laid upon the royal family. Yet if these two monsters are royalty, why does Frisk live in ruins and wear torn and dirty clothing? If these two monsters are next in line for the throne, why do they talk about the King and Queen like strangers, and why does Frisk live with a hideous abomination they call their mother? 

Frisk studies you for a moment, then looks away. Meanwhile, Chara’s smile is wide, and their eyes are bright and focused on you.

“One of us will prove ourself in the eyes of the underground,” they tell you, “and inherit the power of the Queen and King.”

You manage to find your voice, and put words to the next question that races through your mind. “How are you going to do that?” you ask, inexplicable worry building in your chest.

It’s Frisk who answers, determination making their quiet voice heard. “Take down the barrier,” they say. “Lead monsters back to the surface.”

You’d promised to help, if you could. And it’s a good cause, isn’t it? The friendly monsters in that nameless, snowy town, the excitable guard dogs, Papyrus—surely all of them deserve to see the sun. 

So why does Frisk’s answer do nothing to alleviate the anxiety sprouting in your gut?

**Author's Note:**

> You may have noticed, but Asriel's family has a cultural and religious heritage that will probably be shown more as the story goes on. Whereas I am from the same culture as his classmates, which is to say white american. I am trying to research so that I can portray Asriel & his family well, but if I fuck up, please let me know so I can fix it. :)


End file.
